


The city spins around

by luxuries



Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Gen, Kidnapping, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Rescue, Violence, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuries/pseuds/luxuries
Summary: Dick was getting too old for this.OR:An absolute mad lad kidnaps Dick in Bruce's car, Jason has to come save him.
Series: Lux. Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947232
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	The city spins around

**Author's Note:**

> No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped - Whumptober 2020 :D !  
> Content warning for violence.

If Dick had to choose between going to a gala or being kidnapped, he'd pick the latter every single time. And the crooks seem to know this too. That said, nothing much surprises him anymore. He's seen it all, baby. A real party trick to use at the bars. 'Wow, your dad payed 5 million for your release?' Dick would nod. 'So, you're like, rich?' Dick would nod, again. And bam, to his apartment they go. Kidnapping's not all bad, see. But occasionally, (rarely,) they pull a new one. 

This wasn't his first rodeo; he was Gotham's golden child, after all. As far as kidnappings go, it could be worse. He wasn't unconscious (which was both a gift and a curse) so he had some sense of direction as to where they were going. The blindfold was loose enough for him to see below his nose. His wrists were bound together but his legs were free. Whoever his captor was, they were obviously new to the whole ordeal. The art of kidnapping. Dick keeps his slumped position, trying to avoid the captors awareness of his wakefulness. He was seated in a car- going around 80 mph if his estimate was anything to go by. A highway. Not particularly busy. 

Something felt particularly off. Something felt oddly familiar. Something felt more alarming than normal. His skin crawled, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It clung to his tongue- the smell of new car mixed with the distinct aftershave of a man. The air conditioning tasted especially recognizable. What's more, the radio station was stuck on the previous's owner favorite (or, well, most tolerable, as Gotham radio goes.)

This was Bruce's car.

His most used car, that is. Bruce had a collection of top of the line automobiles, ranging from Lamborghini's to Mercedes; he was not shy in showing off. The old Bentley was his fathers go-to when he wished to be less conspicuous. Which was often. 

While beneficial in keeping a lower profile as compared to his more flashier cars, stealing one of Bruce's cars took guts. Most people would expect the car to have a tracker (which it does, obviously. It was Bruce's favorite past-time to know where everything was at all moments. He was a bit of a control freak.) So they learn to look for trackers first and promptly disable them. What most people didn't expect, was that Bruce also stalked-, cough, tracked his kids. Dick had two mini GPS trackers in different locations of his body. Whoever his captor was, they did not think this through. Bruce did not play around. 

His captor was either a first-time offender, unexperienced and rash- or he was a genius. Grabbing Dick right outside the manor (in Bruce's car, for crying out loud) in broad daylight was so remarkable he had to give his captor props. Or maybe Dick was losing his spark. The last few weeks haven't been kind to him; but that won't stop his family from retelling this story every Christmas dinner. 

For now, he had to focus on staying alive. The car zigzagged frequently in a maddened state, making Dick uniquely car sick as his 'unconscious' body flipped from left to right. _What in God's name were they trying to achieve?_ Finally, the torture stopped. His captor took a left, off the highway, and drove onwards till he turned right onto a gravel path. Dick cringed internally as he heard the tiny rocks splash against the Bentleys side. 

This was Bruce's favorite car. 

Whoever this person was, they were going to pay. Dick unintentionally tensed as the car door opened, slightly shifting his head to covertly see who the mad lad was. Hands grab onto his arms, pulling at the binds roughly before dragging him out. Someone strong. They don't bother to carry him. His 'unconscious' act was over, clearly.

He is mindlessly thrown to the floor, landing with his butt on what feels like cement.

"I'm giving this a one star on Yelp." He quips, trying to collect his bearings. At least he was sitting upright- even with the sharp pain in his tailbone- it was better than laying down on the cold floor. Dick tests the rope tying his wrists together despite the man's recent check up. He had to do something, gain some control. Go through the kidnapping procedure. Only the Wayne kids could relate.

"Good thing I don't give a rats ass." Likely male- rough and grimy. A smoker.

"Clearly. My ass deserves top of the line treatment."

"I'm sorry sugar, I'll be sure to massage it for you later." The man leers. 

Dick needs to keep his damn mouth shut.

Luckily, the man has other business to attend to. Dick can hear footsteps receding in the large space. A warehouse? A barn? Whatever it was, Dick needed to get out of it. He shuffles backwards, hoping for a wall. After a minute of awkward movement, he finally reaches some sort of surface to use as a vantage point. Silently, he bends his legs just right to get his back sliding up the surface. Finally, at a standing position, Dick flips his arms over his head in what really should have dislocated his shoulder, but damn was he flexible, to get his wrists to the front. With that out of the way, he reaches for his blindfold and pulls it down. 

To face his captor directly in the face.

Dick almost jumps in surprise and moves away before the hand reaching for him meets its target. He backs away till his back hits the surface he had once trusted; the man (around 5'8, dad bod with blonde graying hair) corners him easily. How did he not hear the man's approach?!

"I was uh, just wondering what the time was." Dick tries, to no avail. Blondie grabs onto his shoulder and promptly forces him down to then make his knee and Dick's stomach kiss. Dick convulses, coughing at the sudden lack of air and immense pressure. An elbow lands against his back and he is on the floor, the taste of blood in his mouth tangy and unwelcome. 

"I-" He pauses to catch his breath "I found out, you- you can blindfold me again." His captor pauses briefly, staring at him with an incredulous expression. Dick smiles and then the man is kicking him around, hurling Dick across the floor. Dick tries to get into a protective fetal position but the hits are relentless. 

Dick coughs out some more blood- an ugly red splatter on the gray cement. It dribbles past his lips and dries in the corners of his mouth. It reminds him faintly of his first halloween- going as a vampire with those fake fangs which tasted like the dentist, and the red paint which Bruce had to double check to see if it was safe to swallow. 

Dick groans, either at the memory or his current predicament. 

Finally, the man stops his assault. Dick lifts himself up, bound arms shaking with the effort. Before he can get his knees down on the floor, the captor presses his foot down against Dick's back, smushing him against the floor yet again. The pressure increases and Dick hears more than feels something crack. He shouts in unexpected agony.

"Stay down, kid." The man crouches to grab onto his hair, lifting his head to meet the captor's brown spinning eyes. He spits at his face- Dick closes his eyes before it lands. His lips are coated in translucent saliva and opaque blood, tears leaving a trail of porcelain skin down his dusty skin. 

The man smiles hideously- all teeth and no lips- and loosens his hold. Dick catches himself just before his face meets cement. He closes his eyes when the ceiling lights get all too bright, listening to the sound of the man's fading hyena-esque laughter.

—

He wakes up in the same position- albeit to different circumstances. He can hear Jason's guns popping off somewhere nearby. Dick sighs in relief and tries to get up, using his hands to lift his body up enough to get his knees under him. Something flashes in his eyes and he's down again. 

It goes silent. Dick is panting heavily from the pain, which only makes it worse. He strains his ears for the telltale sound of footsteps. Is Jason okay? God, he feels helpless. Where's Bruce? Dick makes another attempt to get up, but only manages to flip around. He bites his lip to stop the pain begging to rush out, a wounded moan reverberating in his chest. At least he has better vision of his surroundings now. Speaking of...

"Dickie bird?"

"Little wing," Dick sighs breathlessly and it makes him wince because everything _hurts._ Jason increases his stride, rushing over in renewed vigor. His younger brother seemed fine; the comforting smell of gun powder and leather washing away Dick's fears. "I've never been happier to see you." 

"Really?" Jason scoffs, lowering down to his level to check the damage. "Even after I died and came back?"

"Ok fine, close second." Dick smiles and his lips crack, splintering into pieces of dried blood and... something else. "Is the... Is the man here?"

"He's handled, don't worry your pretty mind about that." Jason is patting him down, checking for broken bones and wounds. An ordinary routine.

"Necks fine, suspect a broken rib." Dick finishes the analysis for the hooded figure. "Where's Bruce?"

"He was busy." Jason's tone is all snark and no compassion. It promises an explanation, but Jason gratefully keeps it to himself. Of course Bruce was busy. 

"He stole his car..." Dick huffs humorously, but Jason doesn't seem so amused, briefly glancing at his face. Right, his face. It no doubt looked a mess; dried up blood crusted around his lips and chin- the familiar tang of blood on his tongue, staining his teeth like red wine. Puffy eyes from crying. Tired, downcast brows twitching in tandem with the agony of movement.

"I'm going to lift you now, okay?" Uncharacteristically tender- Dick must look really bad. Regardless, he nods and relaxes his muscles. He lets out a sharp breath with the first step, leaning heavily on his brother. He holds the embarrassing sounds back as they trample and stumble all the way towards Jason's bike. 

-

Just outside the warehouse (it was so small, it felt so big) he sees the lumped figure of the man who had carelessly attempted to take a Wayne. A first-timer after all. There's a small puddle of blood, barely discernible in the moonlight, under his cheek. A sudden burst of nausea invades Dick at the sight. He shifts his eyes before he vomits. Jason gently places him on the motorcycle's seat, princess style. 

"What did he want, anyways?" Dick needed to know. It was a running joke now, remembering experiences based on the amount demanded. The 10 million attempt was a real havoc. How much did they think his life was worth? Jason, however, shakes his head.

"He was just a middleman. Said a one-eyed guy hired him." Dick blanches but hides his shock quickly at Jason's concerned glance. Slade.

"Know any one-eyed guys?" Jason asks suspiciously. He revs the engine and pats Dick's thigh twice, signalling his desire to leave. Dick grabs onto the leather jacket he's come to associate with safety and family and all things good. They're off.

"Nah." He responds easily, ignoring the pointed look Jason briefly gives him before focusing back on the road. 

"Whatever you say, Dickie."

"Home?" Dick shouts over the roar of the engine, clenching and unclenching Jason's jacket as waves of agony hit with every bump and turn. Jason drives like a madman, lights flashing by in an alarming fashion. Or maybe he had a concussion. Whatever.

"Home." Dick can't hear him, but he reads his lips. Satisfied, he lets his head fall in between Jason's shoulder blades and closes his eyes. The world stops spinning.

**Author's Note:**

> me manically looking through my spotify songs for an adequate title: Fuck it! Classically tragic 'The Fray' songs it is!
> 
> Also y'all might be like, wtf Dick dislocated his elbow and arms and shoulder blades (idk im not a doctor) to bring his hands to the front! But let me tell you, i have seen it done. I wont elaborate for legal reasons but trust me. its possible.


End file.
